


Not Quite Elsa

by helsinkibaby



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Community: comment_fic, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Hair Braiding, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 22:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14680974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: Nick knew Ellie was lying when she said she never thinks of calling him. He just wishes he didn't have to find out like this.





	Not Quite Elsa

**Author's Note:**

> Theme : fluff  
> Prompt: Any, any, braiding a friend or loved one’s hair  
> https://comment-fic.livejournal.com/906678.html?thread=107360438#t107360438

When his cell phone rings just as the game is getting interesting, Nick is very tempted not to answer it. Temptation lasts for exactly as long as it takes for him to imagine the wrath of Gibbs should he be late to a crime scene so he takes his eye off the television screen to at least glance at the phone. Seeing Ellie's face on the display, he grins to himself and reaches for the phone, knowing exactly what he's going to say to her. 

This is going to be fun. 

"Ah, Bishop! See, I knew you were lying when you said you never think to call me." There's a soft sound at the end of the line that might be a chuckle and Nick relaxes further into the couch cushions, crossing his legs at the ankle and settling into full on teasing of Ellie mode. "So, what's the plan, are we drinking, or dancing, or do you just need me to be your wingman?" He really hopes it's not the last because he can think of a whole lot of things he'd rather do than watch guys try to charm Ellie. Damn it, that's his job. 

Usually, she'd give as good as she gets but for once, she's not taking the bait. "Nick, can you... can you come and get me?" 

She sounds hesitant, unsure, but Nick's talking before that really registers with him. "What, you've had a few too many and can't drive? Isn't it a little early for that?" Even as he's saying the words, he knows they don't make sense. Ellie does not drink and drive, Ellie does not go out drinking on a school night, not when they have to face Gibbs in the morning and who knows what kind of crime scene - hangovers and corpses do not mix and Nick knows that from bitter, bitter experience that he will never, ever speak of. There's a noise from the other end of the phone then, which might be an intake of breath but it sounds wrong somehow, sounds more like someone's trying to stifle a sob and Nick feels the hairs rising on the back of his neck. "Bishop? Where are you?" 

There's a pause that lasts just a beat too long. "The hospital."

"What?" Fear slams through Nick's body, making his pulse pound and his heart race and he swings his feet onto the floor in a hurry, sitting bolt upright and casting around to see where his boots had landed when he kicked them off. "What happened?" 

"Just a little fender bender." Her voice is light and, as he jams one foot into the boot he can find, he knows that it's too light. "But they won't release me unless someone signs me out and..." She's breathless, even with saying that little and he locates his other boot, doesn't even stop to tie up his laces, just shoves them one handed inside the top of the boot and goes to grab his car keys. 

"Bishop, sit tight. I'll be there in twenty minutes." 

In actual fact, he makes it in closer to fifteen, by dint of breaking several traffic laws and planning to flash his badge if he gets pulled over. He's pretty sure Vance would back him up on that; he knows for damn sure that Gibbs would. He gives his name and Ellie's name to the harried looking receptionist behind the desk and it's a long few minutes of pacing the room before someone comes out and brings him along a corridor to a row of cubicles separated by flimsy curtains. The nurse pulls one aside and he sees Ellie lying there, pale and still against the stark white hospital linen. 

She opens her eyes - well, one of them - at Nick's soft exclamation of her name. It seems to take her a second to focus on him but when she does, she smiles. "You're here." 

"Of course I'm here; you called me, didn't you?" He steps into the cubicle and the nurse lets the curtain fall behind him. He steps close to her, takes one hand in his without thinking, uses the other to brush her hair back from her face. "Shit, Ellie, this was not just a fender bender." 

Her cheeks flush. "I was going through the junction two blocks from my apartment," she tells him haltingly. "A car jumped the lights... went straight into my passenger side." He can imagine all too easily what that would have looked like, that it could so easily be worse. "I didn't want to scare you." 

"Yeah, too late." He makes an attempt to smile as he says it but he doesn't think he succeeds. Her eyes flutter shut and he uses the opportunity to unashamedly check her out. Her left eye is swollen shut and the whole left side of her face is a livid shade of red that's going to be an awesome bruise. Impact knocked her head against the driver's door, he surmises, and the level of bruising that’s come up this quickly - they’d left the office at the same time, after all - gives him some idea of the level of impact, makes his stomach turn. The only other visible sign of injury is her right wrist encased in a thick cast and he frowns. 

"Airbag injury." Her eye is open again, following his gaze. "Broken wrist... A couple of cracked ribs... it could have been worse." 

"Yeah." His hand is still running over her hair. His other squeezes her fingers and she squeezes back. "I know." 

She swallows hard, sets her jaw real hard like she's trying not to cry. "Can you take me home, Nick?" He's never heard Ellie beg before but there's no other word for this and he'd have to have a heart of stone to refuse her. "Please?" 

He nods, squeezes her fingers again. "I'll find a doctor." 

He finds a nurse instead, who finds a doctor, who gives them a lecture about concussion protocol that they both already know. She also gives Ellie a raft of painkillers which, after the lecture, Nick considers stealing. But only for a moment and not too seriously because he hears Ellie’s hiss of pain as he helps her to stand and he knows how much she’s going to need them. 

They get her stuff and they get to his car and he drives her home far more carefully than he’d driven to the hospital in the first place. Once there, they have their first mild battle when he pours her a glass of water and pops open the bottle of painkillers the doctor had given her. Holding them out to her, he’s met by a shake of her head. “I’m not taking those.” 

He bites back a sigh. Just about. “Bishop, you need these. You just got hit by a car.”

“They’ll make me dopey.” Her jaw is set in a stubborn line that he recognises all too well. “I’d rather keep a clear head.” 

“Bishop...” This time, he doesn’t bite back the sigh, lets it form her name. “You’re impossible, you know that?” Her cheeks go pink and she looks down as she bites her lip. “Promise me you’ll take them if you need them?” 

She nods, gives him a small smile. “I promise,” she says and he knows it’s as much as he’s going to get from her. 

Rather than push his luck, he hooks his thumb over his shoulder, points in the general direction of her kitchen. “How about I make you something to eat while you get changed?” Not that she really needs to, her clothes actually made out fine compared to the rest of her. But he’s been in close calls himself a time or two, knows what it feels like to want to crawl out of your skin to get away from the memories. Besides, the day he can’t get Ellie onside with an offer of food is the day that he hangs up his NCIS badge to do something else. 

Sure enough, the tiny smile on her face brightens just a little. “What, no quip about helping me out of my clothes?” 

He narrows his eyes, even though he’s not offended. “And take advantage of you in your weakened state? What kind of man do you think I am, B?” 

He holds his hand over his chest, shock personified, and she opens her mouth like she’s going to say something but then just as quickly closes it. Her cheeks flush darker and for some reason he can’t name his heart does something funny in his chest, some kind of quickstep, but then she takes a step back, whispers “Thank you,” and the moment, whatever it was, is gone. Just like she is as she turns and moves slowly, stiffly, in what he supposes is the direction of her bedroom. 

He stares after her until she's out of sight, then he shakes himself and goes to the kitchen, investigates the contents of her cupboards and refrigerator. Turns out Ellie has quite the range of ingredients - with an appetite like hers, he'd expect nothing less - but he decides to go for simple, whips up some scrambled eggs and toast and he's just plating up when he hears the soft pad of footsteps behind him. 

He glances over his shoulder with the intention of making a pithy remark but said remark vanishes from his thoughts as he takes in the sight of her. She's changed into a pair of loose fitting pyjama pants, some plaid combination of blues and greens and grey. The grey tank top she's wearing shows off her arms and shoulders and he turns back to his cooking before she can notice the way his eyes fall on the tiny hint of a lacy pale pink strap peeking out on her left shoulder. "Good timing," he says and he's proud of how his voice sounds normal, gives thanks to years of undercover work for that particular skill. Placing the skillet back on the stove top, he lifts the plate of eggs and lays in on the table in front of her. "Eat up before it goes cold." 

For once she does as she's told and he snags a piece of toast for himself, chews it carefully as he pours them each a glass of water. She's slightly awkward eating the eggs with one hand and every time she wants to have a bite of toast she has to lay down her fork to pick the slice up with her left hand. Her right stays firmly resting against her thigh and he wonders how painful it must be, wonders how long she'll last without the painkillers. 

"Thank you for doing this." She doesn't look up at him when she speaks and he realises suddenly it's the first thing she's said since she got changed. He hadn't even noticed the silence. "You didn't have to." 

Nick shrugs. "I kinda did. After all, you don't want to take those pills on an empty stomach." 

Her smile manages to be both surprised and amused. "You're not going to quit, are you?" 

"C'mon, B, when have you ever known me to quit?" She rolls her eyes, shakes her head with a little bite of her lip and once again, his heart does that little quickstep. 

"I'm fine," she tells him while he's still processing that and he holds up both hands in mock surrender. 

"If you change your mind..." Standing, he clears the table, doesn't argue with her when she tells him to just put the dishes in the sink to worry about in the morning. When she stands, her face is suddenly pale, drawn, and he'd bet every penny in his bank account that the events of the night have caught up with her. "Right," he says, putting a careful arm around her shoulders, steering her out of the kitchen. "Let's get you some sleep." Her eyes drop to the floor and she nods but she looks up sharply when he continues, "I'll sack out on the couch... you got a blanket or something?" 

She's shaking her head, looking as confused as he feels. "You don't have to stay..."

Nick narrows his eyes. "You miss that whole concussion protocol, needs to be woken up every two hours speech the doctor gave us? B, the only reason he let you go home was because I swore I'd look after you. I'll set an alarm on my phone, come in, check on you, rinse and repeat a couple times, no big deal." 

She opens her mouth and for a moment, he really thinks she's going to argue with him. Then she sighs and, in a movement that takes him completely by surprise, she leans into him, ducks her head and lets it rest against him, her right cheek, the uninjured one, pressed against his shoulder. He reacts without thinking but in a way he thinks is completely natural when a beautiful woman presses their body against his - he wraps his arms around her, tempers the urge to hold her tightly, mindful of those cracked ribs she'd mentioned in the hospital. He holds her until she straightens up with an audible sniff, then he runs a gentle hand down her left arm. "C'mon," he says. "Bed." 

He's not going to lie and say he's never thought about being in Ellie's bedroom. However, he's never thought about it under these circumstances, sitting on her bed waiting for her to finish brushing her teeth because apparently oral hygiene is a big thing for her. He does his best not to let his gaze wander, doesn't want to invade her privacy any more than he already has but he can't help but think how perfectly the room suits her. Like the rest of the apartment, it's mostly neat and functional but every so often there's a flash of colour, some quirky item that speaks to her personality. In the kitchen, he'd seen a pie dish on the counter with the digits of Pi printed on it. In the living room it had been the couch cushion with a pattern of ones and zeros. Here in the bedroom - and he’s not looking around too closely, he swears, doesn’t want to b that guy with her - it's hard to miss the small teddy bear on the bedside cabinet, proudly decked out in an OSU football uniform. 

His thoughts are interrupted when she comes back out, blinks at him like she's forgotten he's there. She smiles awkwardly, crosses to the dresser and goes to pick up her hairbrush. Of course, she ends up using her right hand, hissing with pain when her fingers curl, or try to, around the handle, dropping it like it's burned her. 

Nick is moving before he's even aware of it. 

"Let me help." He reaches over her shoulder, lifts the hairbrush and, with gentle, sure strokes, he begins to brush her hair. He starts at the ends, gets rid of those tangles first, making his way up slowly towards the crown of her head. She's tense at first, he can feel it, just like he can feel her relaxing the longer he brushes. Her breathing slows and, in the dresser mirror, he can see her eyes fluttering shut. 

Which is when he gets an idea. 

Her eyes open, squinting in suspicion, when he starts making sections in her hair. "What are you doing?" 

"Braiding your hair." He says it like it's the most natural thing in the world. "You won't be able to wash it with your arm like that... this'll make it easier for you til you get to a salon." 

He meets her eyes in the dresser mirror, his hands never stilling their motion. Hers have lost any suspicion they may have had, are filled with a combination of amazement and humour. "You know how to braid hair?" 

He doesn't try to hide his smirk. "Lucia broke her wrist when she was sixteen," he tells her. "I was a lot younger... she made me learn. It's been a while though, don't get too excited."

Ellie is grinning, her eyes soft and far away. "I can just picture you learning how to do that."

"I don't know why you're smiling; trust me, it was not fun. I’m talking howls of pain, cursing in two different languages, there were tears...” He pauses for dramatic effect. "Sometimes even Lucia couldn’t stay quiet." 

She giggles at that, peals of punch drunk laughter that make her shoulders shake, make it hard for him to keep a hold of her hair and keep the braid straight. They make her wince too, wrap one arm around her mid-section. "Don't make me laugh," she tells him when she’s got herself half under control and he's almost finished the braid by then, reaches over her to find a hair tie resting on the dresser, snagging it and wrapping it deftly around the end of the braid. 

"There," he tells her. "Not quite Elsa, but it'll do." Without thinking, he moves his hands to her shoulders and squeezes gently, drops his head and drops a kiss there, just where the lacy pink strap of her bra is still peeking out from under her tank top. He does it without conscious thought, a brief touch and it's only when he hears Ellie's breath catch that he actually realises what he's done. His stomach drops and he bites back an apology, instead looks up and catches her eyes once more in the mirror. They are dark and wide, her pupils huge pools of black and he knows, like he knows his own name, that that has nothing to do with the dim light of the room. His throat goes suddenly dry and he licks equally dry lips. "I shouldn't have done that." 

He can hear the lie in his own voice, knows she won't have missed it. 

"Probably not." Her own voice is hoarse and her eyes are locked with his in the mirror. She doesn't turn around and he sees her throat move as she swallows, the tip of her tongue running across her bottom lip. The sight makes his stomach twist, and not in an unpleasant way. Then something happens that he never expected. 

She leans back, almost melting into him, her back against his chest. Closing her eyes, she lets out a long, slow breath and like he's learned to do after years of training, he follows his gut, moves his hands from her shoulders down her arms, before he wraps his arms around her waist, letting his chin fall back onto her shoulder. 

“Why me?” He doesn’t realise he’s spoken until the words are out there, echoing in the air between them. She doesn’t move, stays resting in his arms, letting him carry her weight, makes a little noise from deep in the back of her throat. It might be a question. It might be a sigh of contentment. It might be either or anything in between and he’s now the one who can’t move, won’t move, not until he gets the answer he needs. “You could have called anyone to come get you, Ellie... why me?” 

“McGee and Palmer have their kids,” she tells him. She doesn’t open her eyes and he wonders if that’s done on purpose. “I don’t know Jack that well and Gibbs is... Gibbs...” 

He finds himself frowning. “So I’m at the end of a long list?” Somehow, he doesn’t like that thought. 

“More like the top.” The air molecules in the room seem to stop moving, everything seems perfectly still, even his heartbeat, his breathing. It stays like that until her left hand rests on top of both of his, joined over her stomach. “I knew you’d come.” 

In another time and another place, he might say “Duh,” or something along those lines, because of course he would come whenever she needed him. He’d crawl over broken glass through the fires of hell itself if he knew that she needed him. 

In this time, this place, he asks a different question, another one that he needs the answer to. “Did you need someone... or did you need me?” 

Even to his own ears, his voice is low, gravelly. She shivers, goosebumps rippling over her skin. She opens her eyes then, still wide and dark but now something else is there too. A hunger, a raw and powerful need that he’s only wished to see there. 

“You.”

It might be a whisper but it’s all he needs to hear. 

Slowly, carefully, just on the very off chance he’s getting this all wrong, he turns her in his arms. He lifts his hands, cups her face, his thumb sweeping a path up and down each cheek, taking special care with her left side. The last thing he wants to do is hurt her. His body is pressed close to hers and he fancies he can feel her heart racing, just like his is. He leans down, brings his lips towards hers like a compass seeking true north and just before they meet, he whispers, “If I’m reading this wrong... you need to tell me to stop, Ellie... because so help me...”

Her left hand moves so quickly he doesn’t see it, only feels it on the back of his neck, keeping him close. “Don’t stop, Nick.” 

It’s the ache in her voice that has nothing to do with bumps or bandages, the sheer longing, the need, that has him closing the minuscule gap between them. And he might have idly wondered what it would be like to kiss Ellie, maybe not so idly wondered too, and he’s come up with dozens of different scenarios, dozens of different ways. But none has ever been like this. It’s better than he could have dreamed, slow and tender, a kiss he feels all the way down to his toes, a kiss that he wants to go on forever. 

But he knows it can’t. 

When he pulls away, she follows him, her lips still seeking contact with his and she blinks, a confused frown on her face as she brings him into focus. He smiles, finds it easier than he might have thought. "Cracked ribs," he reminds her with a kiss to her forehead. "Broken wrist." A kiss to her cheek. "Concussion protocol." A kiss to her shoulder. "Besides... I want to take my time with you." 

What he means he doesn't want to rush things, skip any steps because they know one another so well, because he's wanted this for so long. He wants to see her dressed up for dinner, wants to take her out and show her off, maybe even get her dancing. He wants long walks in the evening, lazy brunches at the weekends, nights spent cuddling on the couch pretending to watch movies. He wants all that as much as he wants to take her to bed, make her shiver and shake and come so hard she forgets her name. 

That's what he means. 

But when she shivers in his arms, when she smiles a slow smile and shifts her hips against his, he realises there's another intrerpretation to his words, and that, moreover, is the one she's chosen to go with. "I like the sound of that," she says, leaning up and brushing her lips over his and suddenly, Nick can't disagree.


End file.
